


The Pirates! In... Love?!

by transhitman



Category: Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists! (2012)
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slapstick, mild cartoon violence, rated pg for, rude language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transhitman/pseuds/transhitman
Summary: The Pirate Captain and his first mate attempt to escape from their latest adventure: killing Andrew Jackson in cold blood.
Relationships: Pirate Captain/Pirate with a Scarf
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	The Pirates! In... Love?!

**Author's Note:**

> I feel ill. I feel free. I'm completely insane.  
> -Transhitman (Co-author)
> 
> Finally. The world will understand. Wallas pirate homogay.  
> -Calpalsworld (Co-author)
> 
> (This takes place in movie canon because we've only read the first book lol.)

It's an average day in the District of Columbia. A day to be remembered for neither rain nor sun, not wind or snow. The year is 1837, the month is September, the day - a Wednesday. 11:30 AM on the dot. The city is filled with officials and dandies and the port with naught but the most reputable trade ships. Truly, it is a distinguished place - the beating heart of the invincible American empire.

“I still can’t believe it took them this long to realize we were puppeting Andrew Jackson’s body, Captain!” The pirate with a scarf says while wearing a scarf. Also, he is running for his life.

“Oh, you know how it is,” also running for his life, the Pirate Captain sighs and gestures, “Americans.”

Americans indeed. The two pirates dodge their way through the streets, completely winded. The past mile of road has become a wake of chaos -- rolling barrels, crashed carriages, upturned vendor's stands, disgruntled officials, a woman whose head has become trapped inside a raw turkey. Not even a street behind, a gaggle of Whitehouse militiamen give chase.

The pirate with a scarf nods solemnly. “Americans.”

The duo runs through the street which is mostly straight but sometimes curves, causing a dual _skrrrt_ shoe noise. The militia makes the noise of, "Hey! ……… Hey!! Woaah! … You stop right there! … Hey! … Why are you just standing there!? Stop them!!" Of course, each one of them has a noisy rifle as well.

"I can't believe you outright said you were a pirate again." The pirate with a scarf rolls his eyes. “You're never going to break that habit."

"It just slips out -- it's a point of pride!" The Pirate Captain pulls a circular bomb from his beard and drops it behind him at the precise moment for it to explode beneath the feet of three pursuing militiamen. One flies into a stinky smelly fish pile, one flies into a chimney, becoming stuck, and the third one flies straight up.

He doesn't come back down.

Twelve militiamen remain.

Bullets zip past the pair, none hitting their mark. Each one careens wildly off course, lodging themselves into bricks and wood. One particularly ambitious bullet ricochets off a metal pot, then a drainage pipe, and into the brim of the Captain's hat. For a moment, his hat detaches from his head, hovering an inch above, carried by momentum, until the Captain grabs it and reunites it with his hair.

The pirate with a scarf is unphased by this. “So Captain, I’ve been meaning to ask, why don’t _we_ have guns?”

“Those contraptions are accurate at what, six meters -- seven? _Maybe_ 10 if you stand still. But I don’t stand still, Number Two.”

“Well, I suppose ships are always in motion.”

Ahead, for some unfathomable reason, a pair of unfortunate nuns are transporting a large stained glass window. However, the pirates don’t stop. Rather, they swipe it from the nuns and lob it back at their pursuers as hard as they can. Instead of doing the normal glass thing and shattering, it lands butter-side down on top of one of the guards and traps him underneath. One of them stops to help his friend, but it’s too late, he’s squished like fine papyrus.

“Nice one, Captain!”

“I could say the same to you!”

“By the way, did we pass up the port?”

The Captain considers for a moment. “You know, I think we did.” He then makes a perfect 90-degree turn and enters the nearest alleyway. The pirate with a scarf keeps going for a second before reacting, then frantically turns to follow. The alley ends in a wall only a few meters in, but it’s too late to take another route. They’re cornered. The only way out is up.

Without hesitation, they scurry up the uneven brick like vertical crabs. The militiamen don't notice where they’ve gone until they see the absolutely bonkers sight of two vertical men.

“Oh………... What are you waiting for? Get them!” Is the noise they make before flooding into the alley. 

_Arrr, that's a long way down! Imagine if I fell and died!_ The Pirate Captain thinks and doesn’t, but then the pirate with a scarf doesn’t either, until the Pirate Captain does (slips).

The militiamen grin wickedly with their scary 19th-century teeth. Each one of them thinks to themselves, _Finally, the delicious pirate meat shall be ours! A feast for all!_ Except for one, who thinks again about the sight of Andrew Jackson’s backup clone emerging from its vat.

Americans.

Gravity takes a moment to kick in. The Captain’s heart seizes and his fingers brush empty air. But his descent comes to an abrupt halt as the pirate with a scarf, already atop the wall, catches him by the hand. In the split second that follows, they share a look of fear mixed with heavy relief, before the Captain regains his hold on the wall and clambers over. Once atop, they can hear the faint hiss of the militia as they, too, begin to climb. There’s no time to waste. The Captain lowers himself part way down the wall before jumping to the ground. The pirate with a scarf follows suit, landing directly on top of him. 

The scarf-wearing pirate instantly scurries off the Pirate Captain, before circling back and helping his captain to his feet. “Sorry!”

“Not a problem,” the Captain says, clearly in pain. “As if a twink could do any kind of damage!”

The pirate with a scarf double takes. “Sorry -- what?” But the Captain has already started running again. The bescarfed pirate joins him just as the first guard clears the wall. Amid the chaos, one of the guards loses his footing and falls flat on his face, which knocks him out cold.

Nine militiamen remain.

Around the next corner, a new church is being constructed. _That explains the nuns,_ thinks the pirate with a scarf, momentarily distracted from what the Pirate Captain just said. A worker is pushing a wheelbarrow full of ruddy brown bricks across the street, on a direct collision course with the pirates. Communicating with a look, the two pirates wrangle the barrow for themselves and run with it. The Captain cradles a brick pile in his arms and rapid fire chucks them at the guards. Three more go down.

“See? Way more accurate than bullets!” The Pirate Captain remarks. In a stroke of dramatic irony, one of the seemingly non-diegetic bullets manifests into a real meaningful object. It strikes the handle of the wheelbarrow, surprising the pirate with a scarf into abandoning his hold on it. He yelps, and shakes out his hand, which still tingles with the vibrations of the handle. Now unencumbered by bricks or barrows, he remembers the left-field statement the Captain had made.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“What word? Bullets?” Wind is rattling around in The Captain's skull.

“You- you called me a _twink_.”

“Ohh! Did I?” The Captain’s brain has manifested turning gears. “Don’t really know where I heard that word, to be honest. You can’t expect me to remember every conversation, can you?”

“Do you even know what it means?”

“‘Course I do!”

The pirate with a scarf pauses and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “ _How_ do you know?”

“Hey, look! There’s the docks!” The Captain deflects. And indeed, the small port of DC is now visible ahead. As soon as they see the docks, they also see a pack of city patrolmen around the next curve. 

_Shing,_ the Pirate Captain draws his shiny sparkly sword. “More militia! Ready to make some kabobs?” The size of his grin is concerning. The pirate with a scarf grabs the Captain's coat sleeve. 

“This way!” He pulls the Captain into an open window, knocking over a steaming hot pie in the process. They step into a kitchen where a woman is pulling a ham out of the oven. Her kids scream and dance around her.  
“Haaaaaaam!”

The sight and smell is familiar to the pirates. Despite the pirates’ solidarity in the delight of ham, they also _really_ delight in stealing. The Pirate Captain yoinks the ham and takes a big munch, his hands so perpetually rope-burned that he doesn’t feel the heat until it reaches his gullet. The kids cry. He screams in pain and tosses the ham back. It lands on the tray perfectly. The kids scream in joy! Reunited! Just then, the guards get through the window. One of them accidentally knocks over the ham -- big mistake. The children see red.

Five militiamen remain.

Once past the Ham Room, the pirates upturn every piece of furniture they see, whether lamp, bookshelf, desk, or taxidermied gibbon, effectively slowing their pursuers down. Once at the other side of the building, the Pirate Captain lobs the bescarfed pirate through a closed window without warning. He then front-flips out the first-mate-shaped hole. Perfect 10.

On the ground clutching his head, the pirate with a scarf mumbles, “What was that you said about damage?”

The Pirate Captain helps him up. “It’s your aerodynamics.”

“What?” The pirate with a scarf blinks. “My what dynamics?”

Once again, the Captain ignores the question, this time not on purpose (likely due to his ye olde ADHD). “Buck up, chap. We’re in the home stretch!” He points to the docks. They start sprinting. 

Though they’re running for their lives, the pirate with a scarf can’t stop thinking about the utterance of “ _twink.”_ He’d never even heard him say anything about “ _homosexual_.” He questions if he's sweating because of the running or because of this… situation.

“But seriously, how did you learn that word? Have you been to gay taverns?”

“Uh, Mayb -- No... never. Have you?”

The pirate with a scarf tries desperately to maintain a normal expression. “No. Er, well, unless you’re ok with that kind of thing.”

Once again, someone crosses the street -- this time a lady with triplets in a pink carriage. The guards are gaining ground behind them. The Pirate Captain gives his companion that same communicative look that portrays a hunger to throw objects at authority figures. This time, the response is a grimace and a vigorous shake of the head. They easily move around (sparing the lives of) the infants.

Finally, the pair reaches the docks. It’s a small port, but the ships are large and important-looking. The tide is high, but the pirates have definitely seen bigger waves. It’s ordinary enough. What stands out is the severe lack of their own nautical vessel.

Noticing this, the scarf-wearing pirate turns to the Captain and makes a claymation frown. “I could have sworn we parked right here!”

“Do you have the keys? Unlock it and the lights will turn on.”

The pirate with a scarf pats himself down but only comes up with a paperclip, a ball of lint, two brown coins, and one silver coin. “I thought _you_ had them.”

The Pirate Captain rummages around in his beard. He takes out a crystal skull, “Nope,” and puts it back, a hydro flask, “nope,” the Declaration of Independence, “nope,” which he throws to the ground, a potted cactus, “nope,” and one of those sticky hands you can win at an arcade, “nope. I don’t have them either...” 

The scarf-wearing pirate catches the Declaration of Independence before it blows away in the wind. They could probably get at least five bucks out of it.

The militia draws closer, some of them resorting to movement on all four limbs.

The two pirates sigh simultaneously, “Americans.” 

The guards hear them, and hiss back, “Pirates!”

At the sight of the encroaching guards, the pirates take off down the pier. Fish and general sea grime slicks the wood beneath their feet. Their path is precarious, but they manage to stay ahead of the militia. That is, until the pier runs short and they find themselves turbo-cornered at the end of a long dock. The five whitehouse guards draw closer, like a pack of (mostly) bipedal, hairless wolves with guns.

The scarf-wearing pirate looks at the choppy sea behind them. They could swim, but for how long? Escape evades them in every direction. 

“There's something I need to get off my chest,” he says. The situation doesn’t look good. He draws his sword. Soon enough, those garbage guns will be at an effective range.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you’re the one who's been using my mug!”

“Captain…” After all these years, the pirate with a scarf still feels disappointed with his captain’s obliviousness, but of course he doesn’t blame him for it. He freezes up as per usual. His grip on his weapon tightens.

The Captain’s jaw drops. “You have, haven’t you!”

“No… no…” The scarf-wearing pirate sighs. “Do you remember pirating that spice trading ship?”

“No.”

“I was a cabin boy on that ship. And when you came in, killing everybody, I don't know why -- if I wanted to survive or just, wanted something different -- but I put on a pirate hat, pretended I was one one of you -- somehow everyone believed me -- and it stuck.”

The Pirate Captain raises an eyebrow, “Okay…? How is that going to help us now?”  
The militia enters gun-accurate range when one guard gestures for the others to stop. He reveals a collection of teeth like toothpicks and tightens his hands like a cat protracts its claws. “You sons of sea slugs! Thought you could kill our president and get away with it? Did ya? Killing the first ever third-term president? Well he was more than just the first ever third-term president! He was our broodmate -- came from the same vat! A bond like that lasts forever, even after death. We’re gonna maim you!”

The Pirate Captain rolls his eyes. He never really cared about this stupid president guy everybodys so riled up about. “Can it ya blasted yankee!” He pulls out another one of those circular-shaped bombs, this time of the smoky variety, and tosses to the deck. A plume of white smoke erupts before the guards.

“Hey!” Woaaah!” The militia recoils. 

A shot flashes just as the pirates disarm two guards with their cutlasses, sending the firearms spiraling into the water. _Bloop!_ The militiaman with toothpick-teeth takes aim, but the Captain stomps on a loose board, see-sawing it directly into the guard’s groin. He lets out a sound like a deflating balloon before toppling off the dock with a splash. With surprising strength, the pirate with a scarf uses the hilt of his sword to knock the nearest gunman out cold. The disarmed guard in front of him draws his saber with a flourish.

“ _En garde!_ ” He shouts, and the two of them clash in a flurry of silver -- so fast like a speedy hedgehog’s feet in the shape of an infinity symbol, but silver.

Across the dock (hotdog style), the Pirate Captain grapples with the other disarmed guard -- a fairly stacked man. Each tries to shove the other into the water while the last remaining gunman tries and fails to get a clear shot on the Captain. But their movements are too erratic, creating a veritable sphere of wrestling human being. They make the noises of “Arrrrrrr!” and “Grrrrrrr!” respectively, but this cannot be perceived from the outside of the sphere, as the sphere has created a vacuum, as well as its own atmosphere (78% sweat, 21% oxygen).

Meanwhile, the epic dual lasts for like twenty seconds before the two skilled swordsmen get bored. The militiaman throws his sword in the air as he dodges the scarf-wearing pirate’s jab, catching it an instant later. The pirate with a scarf sighs -- he's seen better. He slices and dices the space in front of him. Nothing seems to happen at first, but the second the other swordsman makes a move, his pants burst to shreds and reveal a pair of anachronistic heart-patterned boxers. He drops his sword and tries to cover the undies with his hands, but they are too small. He dives straight into the water to hide his shame.

The Pirate Captain uses the newly-established gravity of the wrestle-sphere to sling-shot his counterpart far, far into the bay. 

The gunman looks at the Captain in dismay. “How did you--”

“Aerodynamics.” 

The two lock eyes for a long moment. The gunman then lives up to his title, and raises his firearm.

Not good.

“Captain!” The pirate with a scarf shouts. He jumps towards the Captain, arms outstretched. A bang sounds, a muzzle flashes. Both pirates remain standing. As the gunman frantically moves to reload, the Pirate Captain grabs a net from the edge of the dock and hurls it over the guard. The guard is instantly tangled in the net, and as per the laws of nets, is completely incapacitated. He falls to the deck and lies there, motionless. The pirates are the only ones left standing.

“Well that went well!” The Pirate Captain stands triumphantly, but turns around to see a blood-squirting hole in the scarf-wearing pirate’s arm. “...Except for that.”

“Except for what?”

“ _That_.” The Pirate Captain points, steps closer. “You’ve got a hole in your arm, mate.”

The pirate with a scarf’s eyes pop, but he gets over it. “It -- it doesn’t hurt.”

“I could put my finger through it.” And indeed, he can. In fact, he can see straight through to the other side.

The pirate with a scarf steps back, and chuckles nervously. “But don’t!” 

“‘Course not! Now let's find our blasted ship and get us some ham.” The Captain pats his companion on the back, leaving his arm around his shoulder as they walk back up the pier. A long day of adventure always makes life much more rewarding. The Pirate Captain thinks about all the little things he loves waiting for him back on his ship: his adoring crew, his piles of loot, a good sleep in his hammock -- and of course he can’t forget about his number two right here.

A gunshot sounds. There's a strange jolt as they take a few more steps. The Pirate Captain feels his companion waver. Caught off guard, he tries to get a hold of him too late, and he topples forward. 

One militiaman remains.

The Pirate Captain looks back. Covered in seaweed and one starfish, the militiaman with toothpick-teeth stands at the end of the dock, his flintlock rifle -- retrieved from the netted man -- smoking. He coughs out some water from his throat, and starts reloading, grinning from ear to ear.

“BLIMEY!” The pirate with a scarf screams out in pain. A blood stain grows on his calf, mingling into a dark purple with the blue of his pants. He pushes himself onto his forearms and knees, but any attempts to put weight on his hole-punched limbs are the source of his pained shouts. “Davy Jones’ Stinking, Freaking, Fat Dump Truck!”

Normally, the Pirate Captain would be hyped for one last challenge, but not with his companion in such a dire state. He drops down next to him. 

“It's okay, Number Two! I’ll get us out of here!” 

“W-what…?” The pirate with a scarf stares at the Captain. His nose is bleeding from his collision with the boardwalk.

“It’s okay!” The Pirate Captain scoops his first mate up and runs.

To their left is a cobble wall, above which stands the city and it's streets. To their right is the bay. The choppy waves -- the wakes of the ships in the harbor -- crest upwards. They spill over the dock, misting it in a slick film of water, wetting the Captain's boots with cold, cruel brine. Their ship is still nowhere in sight, and the guard is relentless in his pursuit. Even as he reloads his gun, he thuds down the dock after them, gun and teeth glinting in equal measure. 

The Captain had called his first mate a twink, but he'd never realized how slim he really was. He's always been so dependable, always sturdy and steadfast. But he probably doesn’t have much blood to lose. They have plenty of dock, though, and plenty more road to run.

 _Bang!_ Another gunshot. 

Ahead, precariously perched at the edge of the cobble wall is a huge palette of ruddy brown bricks tied down with ropes. The bullet slices the ropes, hits the bricks, and it's just enough to destabilize the pile. The mass of stone and clay topples to the dock. It splinters under the goliath weight with a heart-dropping crack. Waves spray up at the pirates, who now stand at the edge of a large gap -- impossible to jump even with such a light burden.

The toothpick-toothed guard cackles. He's finally stopped them. No, he doesn’t want to take them out the easy way. He needs this to last. The soul of Andrew Jackson clone number three can only rest once these murderous brits have been put through hell. He stands far away, but just close enough to take an accurate shot… when he feels like it. 

After the Pirate Captain accepts the fact he _cannot_ make that jump, he faces the toothpick-toothed guard. There's no way out that doesn't involve him abandoning his number two.

“The President was always there for me. He's a brilliant man. He shared his kills with me. It was horrible and wonderful. As we feasted on our brother’s flesh in the Presidential Pit, we became stronger, more whole, more of a person. They weren’t gone, but a part of us now. The strong survived, and they lived on for the weak. _I_ lived on for the weak. For those I had to kill. That's how I got here…"

Realizing that this man intends to monologue for at least five minutes, and seeing no way out, the Pirate Captain whispers to the pirate with a scarf, "Number Two, there's something I need to get off _my_ chest.”

The pirate with a scarf wheezes in pain.

“You’re always there when I need you: you remember where we park, you’re better at reading maps than me, you remember the crews’ birthdays so I don’t look like a barnacle-head, your sword fighting skills are unmatched, you don’t use my mug, you always know what’ll make me feel better, your scarf is _really_ stylish, and I guess what I'm trying to say is… You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

“Like… in a gay way?”

“Uh, maybe… If you’re ok with that kind of thing?”

The pirate with a scarf stays quiet, not in homophobia, but in shock.

The Pirate Captain slowly nods. “I couldn’t do any of this without you… and I wouldn’t ever want to… so yes, in a gay way.”

The pirate with a scarf smiles. “You could have said so before we were about to die, but better late than never.”

“Are you guys talking to each other?! Did you hear anything I said?!” The toothpick-toothed guard yells. 

The Pirate Captain dismisses him with an eyeroll. “Yeah, yeah, Presidential Pit or whatever. Blah blah blah."

Moving forward, the toothpick-toothed guard takes aim at the Captain’s head. The barrel is a meter away. He glances at the pirate with a scarf, "You can bleed out," then raises his gaze to the Captain, "but you -- I'll kill you myself!” 

The Pirate Captain hears a scream high, high above. With a smirk, he says, “What goes up, must come down.”

There is a pause.

The pirate with a scarf facepalms.

The toothpick-tooth guard says, “That's… that's a terrible comeback…”

The scream has been in a gradual crescendo, stopping when the third militiaman who had been blown up by the funny-shaped bomb at the beginning -- the one who didn't come down -- comes down. Directly on top of the guard with the toothpick teeth. There's a shout, a crack, and a splash, and all that's left of either guardsman is a human(?)-shaped hole in the wood.

All militiamen have been eliminated.

The Captain cautiously steps closer to the hole. The water churns below, but there is no sign of danger. He lets out a heavy sigh of relief and plops down on the deck, still cradling the pirate with a scarf in his arms. 

"Ow," says the pirate with a scarf.

“Jeez, that was a close one!”

“Captain, I’m still bleeding out.” He looks messed up like someone with a scarf who is bleeding out. 

Unfortunately, one of the few things the Captain doesn't carry in his beard is a first-aid kit, not even single band aid. The Pirate Captain emits uncharacteristic squeaks and begins to tear up. “Y-ea-hh.” His voice cracks. He gulps, and talks uncharacteristically deeper, “Yeah… Yeah you are.”

 _This is very uncharacteristic_ , the pirate with a scarf thinks. “Are you crying…?”

“No!” His voice wavers again before a tear slips out. “I’m not crying. I just got brine in my eyes… and I’m really sweaty… and I’m really tired… I’d really like to go home now.”

"You and me both," the scarf-wearing pirate sighs.

After considering for a moment, the Pirate Captain tears up his waist sash and ties the pieces tight around his companion’s wounds. He's not sure if he's doing that right. He's a pirate, not a doctor.

"Thanks. Sorry for getting blood all over your clothes, by the way."

“They’re red anyway, it's fine.” The pants and shirt aren’t, but the point still stands.

The two are quiet for a while, looking to the horizon, hoping for a miraculous rescue before more guards show up.

The pirate with a scarf speaks again. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

"I don’t know. My bad.” He pauses. “Sooooo… do you like me back?” He bats his eyelashes.

“What? Of course I do. All this time, did you not notice?”

“Oh no, I noticed. I think…?”

The pirate with a scarf is quiet, once again not out of homophobia, but out of shock.

The Pirate Captain sighs. “Ugh. I’m really sorry. I am like so sorry I could just tear my beard out right now.” He sighs again. “I uhhhh… Did you know Black Bellamy is bisexual?”

“No, but it's not surprising.” He thinks about the question for a second. A thought crosses his mind and a perturbed look crosses his face. “No… Captain… you didn’t…. Did you?”

“No of course not! Shut up and listen to my story.” He continues, “Anyway, when his men talk crap about his preference, he makes them walk the plank. Can you imagine having confidence like that?”

“Wow...” The pirate with a scarf can’t tell if he is starting to lose consciousness or if he is too amazed to think of any other words.

“I could never do anything like that.”

“What…? You _couldn’t…?_ I suppose you’re right, because your men would _never_ insult you. They love you.”

“I know, I know… but… there's other pirates besides our crew out there… And,” the pirate with a scarf can feel the Pirate Captain’s nervousness, “they don’t quite like me as much as they like Black Bellamy, so… you know……”

The pirate with a scarf knows exactly what he's saying -- it's one thing the Pirate Captain is bad at hiding. Past all his extravagance, he's always been insecure about what the other pirates think of him (and he's probably justified in that). But that trait is one of the many reasons the pirate with a scarf fell in love with his captain. He loves being able to give him the reassurance such a spectacular man like him deserves. 

The pirate with a scarf grows weaker by the minute, but he speaks with all the enthusiasm he can muster. “Well... when you’re ready to come out, you'll do what you always do. Find a way to get what's rightfully yours! --In this case, respect-- and if the Pirate King himself turns out to be a homophobe, we’ll beat that wench silly!” 

The Pirate Captain laughs. “I wish I could be proud like you.”

“Proud of… wuh?” The pirate with a scarf squints his eyes, which refuse to focus. “Captain… I’m in the closet. I haven’t felt another man’s touch since before all this.”

“Since we attempted to rob the Presidential Palace and murdered the third incarnation of Andrew Jackson?”

The pirate with a scarf blinks. “No... Since I became a pirate.”

“You’re yanking my beard!”

“No.” 

Both pirates sit together for a couple minutes, comforted by the same thought: _Oh wow, we’re both repressed!_

Things are going a bit hazy for the scarf-wearing pirate when the Pirate Captain puts his hand in his own and looks him in the eye. He pauses. “Thought you were gone for a second! Should probably keep talking so you don’t pass out -- got distracted for a moment.”

Not realizing how pale he looks, the pirate with a scarf softly squeezes the Pirate Captain’s hand. 

“Squeeze harder, mate! Don’t leave me now! You don’t want to be eternally late to Ham Night!”

The pirate with a scarf smiles. The Pirate Captain keeps talking and feels like an uncool baby when he wants to cry again.

Finally, a familiar ship makes its way around the corner of the cobblestone wall. 

“There they are! Holy freaking fish sticks what the f@!% happened here?” The pirate with gout cries.

The curvaceous pirate shouts, “Are you alright!?”

The Pirate Captain calls back, “No.” He's far away so they can’t really hear him.

The albino pirate speaks up, “Sorry sir! We got a parking ticket -- we had to pull back around!”

All this trouble -- all for a parking ticket. The pirate with a scarf is the first to laugh. The Captain joins in, and they wait for the crew to make port.

* * *

The pirate with a scarf not only has a scarf on his neck, but an ice pack on his head and a thermometer in his mouth (and bandages too, but that's not important). None of the pirates are doctors, but they’re trying their best. He might limp a bit after this but he will be alright. (This story is rated G, after all!) He also has a plate of ham in his hands as he lies in a lil’ hammock in the ship’s dining hall. 

Can’t miss Ham Night!

“You know, I appreciate all this but I don’t think it's really necessary.” He says, taking the thermometer out of his mouth and putting some ham in. A swaying hammock in a noisy pirate dining room isn’t the most picturesque location. Physically, it’s not much different than the briny wooden pier, but it’s much warmer in more ways than one -- it’s home.

“Congrats on being gay!” The albino pirate says, looking over at the pirate with a scarf, who instantly chokes on his ham.

The pirate who likes sunsets and kittens smiles and raises his mug. “A toast to confirmed bachelors!” The rest of the crew lifts their grog. The pirate with an accordion plays a happy glissando. 

The pirate with a scarf is experiencing death by ham and no one notices until he hocks up the offending chunk (which Polly eats off the ground later).

“You told them!?” He shouts accusingly at the Pirate Captain.

While eating ham with metal teeth, the metal pirate speaks with his teeth, because teeth are what people use to talk, even if they are made out of metal and not enamel. “No -- he didn’t tell anybody, we already knew. I mean, you have the gay earring and everything!”

“The only one who didn’t know was him.” The pirate with gout points his crutch across the table at the Captain, nearly poking him in the nose. 

The pirate with an accordion doesn’t stop playing as he speaks.“Remember that one time the Captain was out with those ladies and you were drunk as a pirate, shoutin’ and cryin’ like, ‘why would he be with them when I’m right here?!’ and I was like, ‘you just gotta tell him how you feel!’ and then you didn’t remember the next morning?”

The pirate with a scarf puts the ice pack over his eyes. “Oh my-- was I really shouting and crying?”

“Oh yeah, you were bawlin’ like a wee babe, you were!” The curvaceous pirate chimes in. 

The pirate with a scarf wheezes, completely mortified.

The Pirate Captain cuts through the ruckus “Alright everybody, ease up.”

“You know…” The pirate with gout glances around the table. “I’m something of a homosexual myself.”

The pirates raise their grog again. “A toast to confirmed bachelors with gout!”

“There's something I’ve been m-meaning to tell everyone…” The curvaceous pirate stammers. “I’m actually a woman.”

The Pirate Captain says, “Of course we support trans rights! A toast to the trans genders!” 

The pirates raise their grog.

“No no, I mean--” The curvaceous pirate sighs, and takes off her fake beard.

Several pirates exclaim, “Wow! That was fast!”

The Pirate Captain says, “A toast to fast-acting estrogen!”

The pirates raise their grog.

A couple pirates ask each other what estrogen is.

The albino pirate thinks for a moment, before saying, “Um… I… I think feet are kinda cute? ... Is that normal?”

An awkward silence falls over the room. Some loud chewing can be heard.

The metal pirate pats the albino pirate on the shoulder. “Good for you, lad.”

The pirates spend the next couple minutes sharing secrets with each other, often toasting to them. As the night goes on, the Captain begins to feel a bit silly for being nervous about coming out. Certainly, the crew is accepting of much stranger secrets.

“So are you two gonna get married?!” The albino pirate blurts out, clearly having held it back for most of the night.

The pirate who likes sunsets and kittens mentions, “I don’t know if that's legally binding in the house of God or the house of the Queen.” 

“Good thing I don't believe in either of those people!” The Pirate Captain says, reclining in his chair, petting Polly.

Mr. Bobo pulls up two flashcards. “Love wins!”

Later that night, the pirate with gout loans (with interest) his crutch to the pirate with a scarf. He struggles his way up the stairs to the forecastle deck, where the Captain stands overlooking the star-peppered sea. He’s rather proud of himself. Thanks to this adventure, not only are they one of the most wanted crews in Britain, but now the United States has a bounty the size of a whale on their heads. The pirate with a scarf walks next to him and leans on the deck’s guardrail. As they watch the waves by the beams of the moon and the fire of a gaslight, the Captain strikes up a conversation about something or another. Their banter goes on and on, as if the events of the day were totally normal. It’s a very nice thing -- to feel normal.

The Pirate Captain does that upward-finger gesture people do when they remember something. “We’ve been talking so long I almost forgot about the treasure!” He searches around in his beard for it. “You sure you’re not a siren or something? Enchanting me?”

“Fairly certain,” the pirate with a scarf says with a smile.

After a bit more rummaging, the Captain produces a sizable stack of papers and grins maniacally. “Aha!” He exclaims. “The deed to the Executive Mansion!” His eyes glint as he begins to read over it. But as he skims the words, his expression slowly falls. He reads aloud, “We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union… what? This isn’t the deed! This is just some pretentious yankee bollux!” He throws his hands in the air angrily, then hangs his head and goes back to leaning on the railing.

The pirate with a scarf pats the Captain on the shoulder, still smiling softly. “Maybe so, but do you know what the real treasure was?”

The Captain looks up, and grins again. “Love?”

The pirate with a scarf nods. “Love.”

They both laugh warmly. The Captain straightens his back and holds out his arms. “Argg, come ‘ere.” And the two of them hug. The pirate with a scarf’s arm aches a bit, but he ignores it. The spray of the waves is cast in a sparkling amber with the glow of the gaslight. They pull away for a second, then lean back in for a salty pirate kiss. The Captain tosses the Constitution overboard, where it is swallowed by the waves. The ink bleeds from the fragile paper as it sinks, deeper and deeper, trailing black wisps behind it, until the soaked parchment is swallowed whole by a squid.

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by @calpalsworld on tumblr (referenced heavily from the cover of A Princess of Mars). Thanks for reading <3
> 
> FR though this was really fun to write. Great exercise in slapstick. Hope you enjoyed : ]  
> -Transhitman
> 
> We deserve an award. Please don't get mad at us for making the albino pirate like feet.  
> -Calpal


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